tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74150154014058097402017-11-18T21:11:08.177+00:00Of Bloody Reflections...the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-75675920734339093662017-01-03T03:52:00.003+00:002017-01-03T03:52:47.009+00:00The First Rule of Feminism: <br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">To seek equality for all.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Inherent in this is an individuals right to autonomy, both of the body and of the mind, and expressions of and opportunity to such.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Criticisms</span>: devils advocate, common form of posed debate qs to antagonise friction and lend to argument of <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">annihilation</span> or subversive support of patriarchy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">T</span>he cost of silencing. Broad perspective vs limited/hyper focus. Ignorance rev<span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">i</span>les, silence perpetuates.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Trans issues within feminism</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">the external, personal liberty, rights to be free from violence and subdigation, to be held equal in the law and day to day life. Toilets!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">The internal: gender <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">theory</span>, <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">labeling</span>, socialisation vs biology, stereotypes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">I</span>ntersectionality not only allies to overlap in harms for <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">different</span> labeled sectors of <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">minorities</span>, but also to how injustices are enacted within <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">society</span> via law, <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">politics</span>, media and opinion. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">Every thing is a shit for an awful lot of people, rise of the far right and nationalist attitudes</span>.<br /><br />key areas<br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">E</span>ducation<span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">;</span> more about pretty little league tables than actually educating children and ya in politics, un-biased history and the <span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">relevant</span> sciences, on how to formulate and write an argument without embracing the modern mode of snark and quick, dismissive, one liners.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif;">______________________________________________________________________________</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Another random snippit found, written in an insomniac haze, after reading a letter in the guardian relating to free speech and trans rights. There was a lot of drama at the time and it rather annoyed me. Equality is equality. We have far to go and biting each others throats helps none.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Interestingly since this there has been a small but steadily growing awareness and acceptance of those who identify as trans* particularly in schools. These stories have reached main media, with an awful lot of hate too, but there is education. My son, when he was about six, really enjoyed a documentary style show on cbeebies. He was admittedly a bit miffed that anyone would have an issue with such a child at all, and quite admired his haircut. It just kinda made sense to him at that age when all children are thinking about simple ways to express their forming identity.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;trebuchet ms&quot; , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We adults understand that it is more complex than that, there is a long history to overcome. And yet it is also that simple. People can just be who they want to be, and we can except one another, support, and be better people.&nbsp; </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We can actualise the future we are fighting for in such acceptance and guidance in the methods we use to achieve it.</span></span><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-26434087655746521242016-12-28T20:00:00.000+00:002016-12-28T20:00:01.169+00:00Not done yet<br />Last nights post was all fury and demand.<br /><br />Still awaiting the truth.<br /><br />Still awaiting much.<br /><br />I feel the need, given the circumstances, given that fury, to reiterate that it is love that is the motivation. The need for improvement, not just for my son and myself, or this shitty little town in this all too conservative county in this flailing country that we live in, but for all those that exist in this culture that makes it all too abundently clear that it does not care.<br /><br />I care.<br /><br />I fight. And although my feeds are limited in regard to the news and activism I used to be part of, I am aware that there are others that care, that fight, that raise their voices. And still I say: arise, awake. Say no, refuse to obey, break the cycle of silence and harm.<br /><br />We have that power. Even against odds that seem stacked against us: we are the many. We can resist. We can persist. You do not have to be but another cog that keeps the machine turning.<br /><br />Where possible I try to move within our cultural bounds, and see how these are failing. Tired and useless. Nothing seems to be achieved, and those whose jobs it is to work on the frontlines now only pass the buck and point to it being someone elses responsibility. I was never naive about this, but still, I am disgusted with how very little is being done.<br /><br />Just a few paltry campaigns and picture ops with no real action, just a few logged incidents or complaints, a few words in interview or meetings brief and stirring the bad not alleviating it. That is it. This is the help, the support, the back up. Bullshit.<br /><br />We need to demand better, whether a member of the public, or one working in these services. Stop making excuses. Stop waiting for some miraculous change, blinking stupidly as all crumbles into degradation and muttering "my hands are tied". They are not. I have experience that, literally....there is a vast difference.<br /><br />We have everything we need for a forward facing, inclusive and compassionate culture; one which nurtures people and provides opportunity, which celebrates all the wonderfulness people are capable of....when they are not marginalised, or suppressed, or beaten, or starved, or raped, or made homeless, or all the other countless ways in which the people are broken into manageable units for those in power to chew over and suck all value from. Why do we allow this...why do we continue to except the strangle hold of our so called betters, of the so called law that governs their ability to continuously fuck us over...<br /><br />Enough. Let go of the illusion. Let go of the labels, of the pacifying tactics of a few gaudy baubles or promises of a little bit extra if you shut up and bend over oh so conveniently for the patriarchal cock that will gleefully shaft you, and your family, and all that you hold dear.<br /><br />Stop turning on one another, stop your casual nastiness and enjoyment of a label thats held in a tiny more esteem but really means nothing, stop your bullying and your set up opposition and fractioning of our strength. Damn fucking straight, we are all in this together. A state sanctioned atrocity. One that spans generations, and decades, and will continue to do so if we simply do not say: enough.<br /><br />To simply refuse to continue this false narrative of justified hierarchies.<br /><br />We are all people. We are one.<br /><br />We are strong. We do not need to obey, to harm, to accept the continuance.<br /><br />Alone, we suffer. Seperated, we are weakened. Isolated, our voices lack resonance.<br /><br />Together we can enforce change.<br /><br />If you break this silence.<br /><br />Peace.<br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-29796063351071180272016-12-27T20:49:00.000+00:002016-12-27T20:54:48.618+00:00cough cough<br />I cannot even begin to describe how very fucking much I have had enough of this bullshit drama I have found myself in, berift of all that matters; namely love, care, compassion. My son, still.<br /><br />People often spout platitudes at this time of year, all that hope and goodwill lies people tell has they scoff and purchase and pretend to give a shit about anything. Have hope, have hope, nearly there.<br /><br />Fuck that. Fuck all of you who are culpable in the misery that has been enforced.<br /><br />You can stop. Right now. You could contact me here, or on social media, or in person, and say; "yes, this awful mess is real. I acknowledge. Here are the details..."<br /><br />Because I do not understand, still. Though Ive long figured out my actions and words, whether private or in public, are shared and known. People comment in the street. I enter countless orchestrated situations. Reeks of some shitty Derren Brown reality show. How much do you see, how far is this spread, what the context is....<br /><br />I dont know that.<br /><br />I know that I tell the truth to those I meet. That during this I have been raped twice, at least that I am aware of. That I am writing this with healing fractures, that I have been assaulted numerous times and recently been wrongfully sectioned and assaulted by gangs of so called professionals administering overdoses. That someone who claimed to love me, my old best friend, spent our entire relationship being abusive. That people who have raped me, assaulted me, or been witness to these events in the past have been paraded before me in obviously staged circumstances. That all services are refusing to do their jobs correctly, or help in any way and only continue the harm. That all of this is real.<br /><br />That you have been coughing down your sleeves and laughing the whole way through.<br /><br />Why.<br /><br />What the fuck do you think excuses this....<br /><br />Not to mention that a little child has been left without his mother. This time can never be replaced. I will never forgive any of you who are culpable if he has been further harmed, if he has truly been with his abusive cunt of a father this whole time. The man that literally tried to kill me.<br /><br />This is not a trick. Not a game.<br /><br />It needs to end.<br /><br />I am about to be made homeless. I am struggling with healing. But I will not give in to the abuse. I will not be silenced. I will get my son home.<br /><br />I sincerely hope that you have been mis-led. Despite my telling you the truth over and over again. This is not an act. <br /><br />Yes I am an activist and so as awareness filtered to the top, here and there, more and less, I willingly gave voice to social issues. There are many others that suffer too, also very real, also horrifically common place and everyday and in need of stopping. That was desperation: that perhaps some glimmer of good may arise from this. I stand by this, still, though those same services and causes have harmed me too. And laughed, and primped.<br /><br />Such fun, isnt it! Trying to break some one. Attacking them, drugging them, raping them, breaking their bones, scarring their flesh, destroying a chance at a life, a home, a family. Taking their fears, their nightmares, and making them manifest. Such fun, so titter ha ha.<br /><br />Again, what do you think is worth this...what lies could you have been told to make you think this is ok.<br /><br />It is not ok.<br /><br />It is real.<br /><br />Break the silence and stop the harm.<br /><br />I did not give permission.<br /><br />I do not want this.<br /><br />There is a court order superceding my will, I believe. That is the only way this could be done. Whatever you think it is, this has also been used for a clean up: investigations and expose. The courts have over view, undoubtedly. They have allowed this.<br /><br />Again, why...any of this could have been achieved in a better manner, if anything has been achieved at all apart from the harm. I am reluctant to think that it has, as shallow and brief as the scenarios have been. The pathetic drama of it, and those I come into contact with, sickens me.<br /><br />Though, sure, that may also be recovering from multiple overdoses of paracetmol, and olanzapine injections. <br /><br />The way everyone just uses. Just abuses. Just makes excuses and stupid symbols. Like it has any substance or meaning. Like I should just lighten up and "enjoy the wild ride". Fuck You.<br /><br />I want it over, I want out. I want my son.<br /><br />And I saw him briefly the other day, just for a few precious moments, unexpectedly; and they were the only moments worth living for since last I saw him. he has grown so much, still the most wonderful child ever, but quieter and uncertain. He is 8 years old and he needs his mummy. We need to be whole again.<br /><br />I dont care what you think this is, help me end it. Please.<br /><br />Dont be the monsters in the dark.<br /><br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-45914567709358407552016-04-24T21:06:00.002+01:002016-04-25T02:47:18.804+01:00Reality, Part II: Processed<br />I questioned, of course, tried to refuse. Tried to explain that I was indeed sane whilst sweating in an old jumper and trying to control the panic and disbelief that this was happening.<br /><br />I tried rationality, calling my mother and offering to stay with her and seek the proof of a mental health assessment to offer reassurance. At first they seemed to listen, approving the idea, but after a quick phone call with her manager the emergency social worker refused.<br /><br />\later I found out that this voice on the other end of the line was Kav, whose husband had worked with my abusive ex for years together at a local factory. Once he had followed me into an ally way, becoming aggressive and holding me in a place as he told me of a social work he knew and that one day a file would cross her desk and then they would have me. This was summer 2014, just before he moved into the problematic address, and a couple of weeks before my head injury. At the time I had thought it one of his empty threats, and though feared and a bit bruised, such occurrences were well normalised and I continued.<br /><br />My mother arrived and gave me the number of a solicitor she had used in her divorce. I only got through to a secretary as it was out of hours. I was told I had no choice. To leave freely, or to try and take my son and be sectioned and/or arrested.<br /><br />as i left with my mother something broke.<br /><br />They came to the house and I pressed his blanket and the mother beast (though I forgot the cacoonses) and a few other special things he would need. I promised to supply them with an assessment, that I had a court order. They offered small pleasantries and mutterences and then left.<br /><br />I called my GP and asked for an assessment, receiving an apt for the next day. 20 minutes before I left to attend the next morning Kav and a social worker from the previous day and had a quick tea and face to face introductions. They seemed reasonable and would want to know what the GP said. I said I wanted my son back and would need to know the dates of when she wanted to meet to complete her assessments, as I was sure that his being taken was not legal, and the the mental health allegations were evidenced against.<br /><br />Digression: <br />Thing is, do you remember&nbsp;<a href="http://ofbloodyreflections.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/sex-tape-racism-lies-and-misogyny.html" target="_blank">this post</a>. Weird shit was going down, I had been hurt and those that hurt me that night tried again the night before mother's day 2015. I was spiked. Someone tried to stab me. It was chaotic and leery and I don't trust my memories of it. One of those I thought I could trust, after offering a bit of respite at his place, then also spiked me...again. Just about managing not to pass out I got a taxi and limped home.<br /><br />apt1: My ribs were sore, and I still had difficulty breathing after a week or so, so popped for a check up with the nurse. I read fantasy, I know the risk of bone fragments migrating. My oxygen levels were good, but she wanted to get the GP to double check. I agreed and made the apt.<br /><br />BIG MISTAKE<br /><br />apt2: Now, my surgery, like most surgeries, is really busy. You take what apts are available, and I had never actually had an apt with my registered GP. I had presented as emergency with my injuries and been seen by who was available at the time. However, children's services, had been in contact and sown the seeds of negative bias. They assumed the nasty rumours were true and looked for verification.<br />"She says she has a head injury."<br />"I've never even seen her." {does not check medical file}<br />"So she is a liar, then. Dangerous too."<br />"Seems so."<br />This is the image that I walk into, thinking I'm just going for a second opinion. I'm immediately discredited, not believed about the assault and now with added extra's of apparent claims of sexual assault by the police. I am told that I am delusional and that he will make a referral to social services. He argues with me about a repeat prescription of anti-inflammatory and then claims he thought I was after something stronger. He talks to me like a misogynistic pig. Then he calls in a female doctor and ask me to strip for the examination of my ribs, pulling at my vest and not listening when I protest that I am not wearing a bra. The examination is cursory as his fingers touch my skin, not the parts that are injured. I leave in shock. This was the morning of the day my son was taken.<br /><br />apt3: My mother had arrived again that morning to be there for the cuppa with Kav and came along to this apt. This time it was the GP who had been treating my head injury and the general practitioner manager. I requested a MHA. They put the referral through on emergency and asked me if I thought I needed help. I clarified that I needed proof, and I needed to get my son home. he said he just wasn't sure with me, and looked at me sideways. (Some men are intimidated by a woman's intellect, or a woman pursuing oversight of adequate medical care for a serious injury and and gynecological issues the realistic instance of which men still doubt in the older medical community. Thank fuck for women, junior doctors and modernisation of medical research...oh wait, no, the government are screwing them over too.)<br /><br />My mother and I return to her house, the dogs need feeding and I make numerous phone calls to seek legal advice; all of which is that my son should be returned, I was clearly quite rational, during this the MHA team got in contact and then promptly arrived and conducted the assessment. "No concern, return the child." As soon as it was completed the phycjiatiric nurse went to sit in her car and let Kav know. When she returned it was revealed my abusive ex had already picked my son up from school moments before and that the Caffcass officer had cleared him for access and was writing the report for court.<br /><br />Thinking to minimise the strangeness for my son of having been pulled out of class early and given to his paternal grandparents in the presence of the police, I suggested that we followed the timescale of access in the court order. My son would be returned Sunday 5pm. The MH team concurred this was a sensible approach and I confirmed with Kav, giving my permission for the results of the MHA to be shared, she said my abusive ex noted "that's good to know" and that if he should not return my son and I contacted the police to get the court order enforced she "would have to say there was no reason not to return him.".<br /><br />I offered the paternal family a meeting.<br /><br />Eventually they contacted back, refusing to say how my son was, and delaying. My abusive ex offered to meet in the pub one of my rapists worked. He then told me he would not be bringing my son home.<br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-55476250146742334262016-04-24T19:31:00.000+01:002016-04-24T19:31:37.670+01:00Reality, Part I: How the End Came to Be<br />Alrite there wanderers,<br /><br />I don't know if I've mentioned it but my head got a bit smashed with a car door July 2014. It fucked me up a bit. <br /><br />January 2015 my abusive ex applied to court for further access to our son as I had restricted visits to his mother's house after he moved in with a drug dealer. The guy is small time and not a bad person as far as I know, he used to frequent a place I used to waitress in and was friendly like, but this is not an environment for a child. There are different classes of people who purchase drugs and the 'hard' ones should stay well clear of my child, or any child. There is risk with such addictions, violence often becomes currency and well being is devalued to the point of non existence.<br /><br />What followed was my worst nightmare.<br /><br />I naively turned up to the first court hearing, suffering amnesia, nerve damage, random movements and balance issues, concen5tration and communication difficulties and other such symptoms. I was awaiting my first CT scan, following a referral from the GP to referral for eye checks then a referral by a neurologist, a slow and winding process of neglect in the harshly under funded and under attack and under strain NHS. I presented a simple statement with a moderate offer of negotiaton that maintained the status qou and enabled safe contact between father and son.<br /><br />I may have been in pain and presenting poorly but my mind was sound. An order was granted confirming my proposal whilst the case progressed and further checks were sought with Cafcass.<br /><br />I returned to the daily struggle and had some hope, though I was struggling to cope with issues with my son's school. Due to my injury I struggled to get up in the morning and there was some lateness. An average of 7 minutes late, three times a week. This prompted, fueled by vicious rumours, persistent referrals to social services.<br /><br />On March 27th 2015, the last Thursday before the easter holidays,&nbsp; I arrived at the school to pick up my son. He was not waiting with his class. He was not in the office, but a social worker and the school attendance officor and a police man were. They took me to a small room and sat me down, closed the door and stared at me with sad, serious eyes. I have never known such fear and asked where my child was. They would not tell me and I began to cry and asked again. They told me to sit down. I refused and demanded they told me what was going on, was my son safe?<br /><br />They said yes, he was in another part of the school. I sat down.<br /><br />They said I was not allowed to have him.<br /><br />They said I was a liar and crazy.<br /><br />They tried to section me under the Mental Health Act.<br /><br />This is how my son, my bright star, my love, was taken.<br /><br />This is how the end came to be.<br /><br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-46071879219637027402016-03-27T00:39:00.001+00:002016-03-27T00:39:36.038+00:00Anniversary<br /><br />It's been a year, its been a year<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; since they took you<br />shall I count the days, the minutes<br />the hours and seconds? no<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; you already know<br />all the lost stories at bedtime<br />and snuffles at night<br />and smiles in the morning (from you<br />I always grumbled, and we traded<br />roles in the afternoon)<br /><br />It's been a year, it's been a year<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; since they took you<br />shall I speak of the grief, the anger<br />the shock, the hungry fear? no<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; you already know<br />all the ways I miss you<br />and love you dear<br />and want you here (safe in<br />my arms and talking in gestures,<br />our lifetime language)<br /><br />its been a year, its been a year<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; since they took you<br />and I will get you home again<br />will get stronger, will brave on<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; you already know<br />....I hope, always,<br />I hope for you<br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-3009755941170516042016-01-20T05:55:00.003+00:002017-01-03T03:31:41.430+00:00Can't Sleep #1I've been thinking about the publishing market a lot lately, for obv reasons.<br /><br />I'm disturbed. I'm worried books are going the capitalist way. Big trends, blockbusters, digital saturation. Dwindling midlists, less risks taken, a saturation in ebooks, with little quality control. Spinning out repeats of the same blase story, with different character names and slightly different plot arcs, because the original was a hit. Or as more recently seen purposefully publishing so-called celebrities, read bigots, because there is perceived profit in the making due to the Edge, or scandal, factor. Meaning that imprints that once held a good reputation are falling beneath the political shift to the far right and marginalising their readers and authors by aiding the propagation of hate.<br /><br /><br />When they should be fostering the intimate relationship between writers and readers, symbiotic.<br /><br />Pubs considering new tactics from offering a range of publishing packages to writers, often set at high prices that treat writers as just another source of income, to subscriptions for ebooks. Looking for innovative ways to redress the balance after technological shifts and economic recession. After it is seen more clearly how the market was not damaged by ebooks but actually expanded and redefined as readership grew and each reader choose their preference, or often still reading both print and ebook. Print, particularily hardbacks are seen as inestments or collectors items; ebooks more chance bought. This gives ebooks more flexability in publishing choices, as well as their very cheap production costs. This can be good, leading to signing more up and coming writers and testing the water before investing in hard copy and a hard marketing push, or can lead to risk if this option is only taken for a soft sell of multiple similar products; taking advantage of the "check out" spur of the moment purchase. Like chewing gum, to be chewed up and spat out.<br /><br />Branding power of imprints is underused. And here is where the corporate needs to fade and...I dont know what to call it. That feeling you get when your forced to talk to some random person, then they mention a book you love and you start seeing them, and that moment as something other than mundane. Or when you walk into a library out of the rain. Or carefully open some crumbling tome at the back of a hidden shop, or crack the spine of some fresh printed novel, inhaling all the time. And the anticipation, always. That. Book people. Stories, words, poetry.<br /><br />Those people, who have that, are the ones reading and reviewing and speculating, tweeting, blogging, publishing articles. It's fun, and to some extent it is where some of the quality control comes in. From recommending good stories to critiquing representation in relation to diversity. <br /><br />Use pool of ebooks to trend hunt, cherry picking the best, either from the popular ebooks or from agented subs that fit the bill, to provide the blockbusters. In process there is also more structure imposed, offering easier access to readers and greater visibility to a relevant audience for authors. But also seek the stories that deviate, that are fresh, the voices of writers that are often over looked. Ebooks offer the chance to develop writers in anthologies, or with subscription models, rooted in a firm online readership. Dont just look at what is trending now, but use the data to see what ideas or gaps are pending. This is old advice to writers, from publishers, and it would be good to see it taken too. Print is wonderful, and often the dream of a writer, why just keep printing the same...push the boundaries, make publishing more accessible and forward thinking; keep looking for that gold.<br /><br /><br />_______<br /><br />This post was actually written in a bout of insomnia some time back but I dusted it off whilst poking about and it felt relevant so it's here for curiosities sake.the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-26159143411443629892015-12-12T00:24:00.002+00:002016-04-25T03:20:22.466+01:00The Rose Key<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8s0I-vn2cQ8/Vmto5_SDSuI/AAAAAAAAATs/XekFWbIQZGc/s1600/rosekey.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8s0I-vn2cQ8/Vmto5_SDSuI/AAAAAAAAATs/XekFWbIQZGc/s400/rosekey.png" title="TheRoseKey" width="257" /></a></div><span id="goog_45085518"></span><span id="goog_45085519"></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/598572" target="_blank">OPEN</a></div><span id="goog_79163117"></span><span id="goog_79163118"></span><br /><span id="goog_79163117"></span><span id="goog_79163118"></span><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-2190750846428694962015-12-12T00:16:00.002+00:002016-04-26T01:30:28.416+01:00Only Feminine #?<br />its the loss and the lonely time,<br />no holly wine quenchedparchedtongueholy<br />tasting past love spent in regretting<br />a world gone awry, all unjusified axis<br />axeing ropes of fragile hopes<br /><br />Yet all our hearts still beat (but for those that don't)<br />born of relatively free feet, wheel, wing, string<br />voice<br /><br />and weeping tears, all ears dears damning<br />a cresting wave of hurt, rotundled yon fronds<br />of tangle weed knowing<br />Un tongue<br /><br />Unfurling, love.<br /><br />Still.the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-44315840537275292702015-12-07T05:09:00.001+00:002015-12-07T05:09:12.975+00:00Bleak<br />My personal life is so shit it is absurd.<br /><br />I had to settle in court, for now. Had to be 'realistic' by looking at the current circumstances and lack of evidence, not how they came about...like removing my child with no consent via parental responsibility, or failing to return him as per the court order that existed at the time. I tried my best in limited circumstances.<br /><br />I don't have enough capacity to say much else on the subject at the moment, except that "it's not your fault" is vapid reassurance. Failure is failure. My son now resides with his father, I am surrounded by abusers and exhausted.<br /><br /><br /> The fight will go on though, I will get him home.<br /><br />To stop myself from having a complete breakdown I have been submersing myself in work, in trying to make one aspect of life somewhat fruitful.<br /><br />So don't run away coz its all dark on the blog, the coming posts will be more positive. the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-44214579410525125282015-07-30T00:46:00.002+01:002015-07-30T00:47:15.162+01:00The Book<br />Of Bloody Reflections, has been leavening in its file since the equinox/eclipse. I've hardly poked at it all, see, last time I finished in 2013 I was all caught up in project completion and I submitted too soon. Way too soon. I committed a cardinal sin, one which must clog up the slush piles of agents and publishers world wide. Sorry about that, dears.<br /><br />Thing is: I'm serious. This is my career. I am going to, after years more to come of building audiance and polishing voice and skill, make a living. This takes time, and wit, and luck.<br /><br />I aint got luck. My wits are healing. I'm giving it time, I'm working on my patience. I listen to advice.<br /><br />In this time I've let the poetry flow, on paper, in performance, and read others, and worked on marketing ideas. I've created a bit of promo material that people responded well to but needs further development. I've been poetry busking and made £35 in a couple of hours, leaving me with an actual profit from poetry (astounding). I've met a lot of wonderful poets, writers and storytellers. I've jammed poetry with musicians.<br /><br />I've begun the second and concluding book, Refractions of Fire, and worked more on the synopsis for that and pondered the themes.<br /><br />I've drafted my submission package. I've begun to draw up a list of suitable agents.<br /><br />Now it's time to open that file again. To give it a thorough, critical read through. To tidy up loose words and threads, and I suspect to pull The End into a better alignment. To ask myself honestly and without fear of failure or narcissistic grandeur: Is it ready? Is it viable?<br /><br />Events in my personal life have left me with little confidence but I can not and will not let that hinder progress. Resilience is a major factor of success.<br /><br />Then it will be time to polish that submission package and get rejected again...with hope, with acceptance, with a willingness to get stronger.<br /><br />It's almost time to burn.<br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-77913158752902633322015-07-04T21:13:00.001+01:002015-07-04T21:13:33.637+01:00Body in the bath: Meditation #2<br /><br />I make rainbows of my self.<br />In the water.<br />In the sunlight.<br />Lips bitten and words<br />dripped in kisses.the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-26461253619502699112015-07-02T17:42:00.001+01:002015-07-02T17:42:52.602+01:00Pain Management: Meditation #1<br /><br />Do not fixate on any one thing.<br />Fixate on nothing.<br />Be the one in nothing<br />Until the one in everything.the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-40763849491653850032015-05-04T23:18:00.001+01:002015-05-04T23:18:32.921+01:00Hearth<br />It beats like this, my heart<br />with the light of a hundred sunsets,<br />a thousand stars,<br />with the sound of childish laughter twisting<br />on sweet humours, in a face<br />that mirrors my own, but brighter.<br /><br />It beats like this, my heart<br />with the love of a hundred hugs circling<br />a thousand gentle kisses,<br />with the sound of soft words from my love's lips,<br />in brown eye's welling truth <br />that mirrors my own, but surer.<br /><br />It beats like this, my heart<br />with the hope of a hundred pleasant days,<br />a thousand gentle nights,<br />with a garden and a kitchen to share,<br />in a family forged in kindness<br />that mirrors us in bliss.<br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-22061909865982642162015-04-29T13:10:00.000+01:002015-04-29T13:10:44.846+01:00The Scorpion King<br />Inside me you slept and dreamed of who you<br />would be, and<br />in awakening would stretch against my<br />ribs and turn cartwheels, eager to be.<br /><br />Born, strength spent and oh so mortal,<br />you sat between my blooded thighs,<br />perfectly round, without breath yet and<br />our souls love sumoned between<br />our locked eyes.<br /><br />Time stood still in the knowing<br />that beat between our hearts,<br />my son, sun, my stars, I'll be the moon<br />to guide you.<br /><br />From the singularity to inifinty,<br />through all the love that seeps in the<br />inbetween spaces.<br /><br />You grew, oh you grew, so swiftly<br />and words gained new definitions;<br />Brave beauty, canny smile, quick fingers<br />and kind heart.<br /><br />Leaving me in a haze of delightfully<br />amazed exhaustion.<br /><br />I will protect you.<br />No matter what ill winds blow.<br />No matter what hardships, what takings<br />take place.<br /><br />I have the patience to watch and wait.<br />I have the will that will not break.<br />You have my heart and all the grace of<br />my love,<br />my son,<br />my Rowan.<br /><br />Soon.<br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-58460113462226225422015-03-11T21:01:00.000+00:002015-03-11T21:01:57.468+00:00Done, dun dun!<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Well then. For once I get to post something positive!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Of Bloody Reflections is finished. Again. Rejection advice, beta feedback and recovering brain function has all been assimilated, the creases and errors ironed out, and...</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">I think it's good. I think it's there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">I'm feeling something close to relieved glee, mixed with nervous dread.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">But that's cool because this last year has been fucking hard, I've worked fucking hard and I think it's paid off.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">Of course it still has to run the gauntlet that is publishing professionals and, of course, audience. Which means that no matter how often I claim finality, there is likely to be more work ahead. But I think it will be the small stuff now.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">This is just a small post because I'm all excited but I will be posting more about the process and giving a sneak peak at the opening chapters, and maybe even an artwork or two.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif;">So don't stray too far, eh?</span>the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-31186473937782148762015-03-08T01:02:00.000+00:002016-01-20T05:46:44.507+00:00Sex Tape: Racism, Lies and Misogyny<br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">At some point in the last year or two a sex tape has gone around, in which a woman with brown skin, face unseen, does dirty things. She has a tattoo on the small of her back and wore hoop earrings. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Online you can also find 'Sugar', a local woman who makes porn, and is maybe/allegedly a prostitute. Her profile pik has yellow lighting and her skin seems tanned.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Near my home lives a woman, with brown skin, who has a nasty reputation and is suspected to be involved in criminal activity. She wears a hooded, fur trimmed, tan coat.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><b>I am not any of these people.</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">If you have read this blog, or my twitter or facebook profiles, then you will have seen my comments on the abuse I have received and strange occurrences that have happened. I still have not got to the bottom of all of them, and some are still on-going and not worth talking about here, but this is something I feel needs sorting the fuck out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">A recap:</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">The police broke into my home, no warrant, no suspicion, and tried to access laptop, went through paperwork, books, art folder, as well as places you'd expect them to look for illicit materials, ie drugs. I put in a complaint an received a near illiterate reply. They didn't report it to the IPCC.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I was sexually assaulted. He, a white UKIP voting male, made comments about knowing who I was, that I was a dirty whore, before he crushed my breast and clawed at my vagina in an attempt to penetrate me. Matters became violent when I fought him off and my nose was broken. The bouncers did not help me*, one threw me into a wall and grabbed my breast, then another escorted me out of the venue. There he tried to brush over what his colleague had done, and a police officer noticed and came over, thinking I had been kicked out and was maybe an easy arrest/PC points. I told him what happened. He sneered and told me to "Fuck Off".</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">The police have followed me around the town center and have informally warned staff in the shops there that...well I'm not quite sure. But the change was noticeable, the dirty looks, the fear, the sneers, the security guards following me around, people pointing and whispering 'That's her.' 'whore' and other comments.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">There have been anonymous reports made to the council, the school and social services, with vague descriptions and locations. Primarily: a brown skinned woman in her 20's.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Friends have informed me of the disgusting rumours. Men have become increasingly aggressive, making lewd comments, and grabbing me if out in the pubs. Women have become disgusted and distant, with claws behind closed doors. The comments are often racist.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Most recently somebody tried to kill my cat. They tied a noose around his neck and strung him up, tied it so tight I could barely slip the scissors underneath to cut him free. My son found him on the doorstep in the morning, there was paint and rust from the front gate worked into the weave of the rope. He must have jerked free, perhaps as they were hanging him, and escaped, but the intention was for us to find him when leaving for school that morning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I went to the police. It did not go well. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">The first officer was one who had broken in to my home and then, later, been so rude to me I had to ask him to leave the premises. He was unhelpful, all full of smirking, and laughingly told me he had never set pen to paper, re the complaint, despite the fact that the reply from the police contained his signed statement. The police forge their data.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I asked for another officer. After a while two emerged. One was friends with one of my exes. The other was the one was the officer who told me to Fuck Off after my sexual assault. I did not recognize them at first, but gradually placed them over the course of our conversation.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">They refused to help, said I deserved it and made other comments that led to my digging for the reason. They thought I was a black/Latino webcam girl/porn star/prostitute criminal smack head. For real. They asked if I had tattoo's, about my online presence/following, if I liked anal sex, if I would take off my coat so they could see my body, if I was trans. There is more but I've lost the will to type it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Any why did they think this? Because it is a predominantly white area and I, and the women above, all have tanned/brown skin, and I wear an orange coat (no hood, no fur, wholly different cut). If you are drunk, or cross eyed with wanking, there is also a slight resemblance to 'Sugar'.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I asked them to run a check on my file, offering official ID. They did so, confirming my lack of a police record, though the anonymity of the sex footage forestalled them for wholly believing who I am. The officer who told me to Fuck Off offered a small apology, expressing his regret. "I thought you were someone else..."</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">&nbsp;"And, what? That I deserved it?"</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">&nbsp;"Well...yeah"</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><b>No one deserves this, sex worker or no.</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><b>&nbsp;</b>&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">If ever, anyone, has been sexually assaulted and asks the police for help, tries to report a crime, then help they should get. Always. This is the law. These are our autonomous bodies.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I do not forgive him, I offer no redemption. But if he is truly regretful, truly see the gross error, then he can prove that by ensuring his future career is one that fights on the behalf of women. One that, at least, fulfills his duty.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">They said they would not help me, or my family, that they would never admit to this, that it was my word against theirs. They told social services I was delusional. They told my son's school I was safe. They told me they would stop following me, yet in a recent trip to the supermarket, sure enough, there was an officer practically darting through the tills to find me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">It is probably not safe for me to be posting this, after the police revealed the assumptions made about me the recent events make more sense. A woman's sexual reputation is often the first thing trashed when people turn against her, or she becomes too vocal in her demand for equal rights, in her dissent, and men's behavior is often sexually aggressive. Due to this I simply did not piece things together until now. I merely noted that hate against 'non-whites' and women had intensified.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">But here we must consider audience, because it is men. Men who share these videos, men who interpret sex work as allowing them to give in to the urge to use and abuse, nay: to destroy. Because it was hate that I saw in their eyes. It must also be noted that they conflated several different people wholly because of the tone of their skin. It was not race, we are diverse amongst us. Just generally brown. This is xenophobia. This is racism. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">My name is Ashley Fox.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I am not a 'whore'.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I am not a sex worker.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I am not a criminal.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I am not all brown women.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I have never made a sex tape.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">I am a writer, I am a feminist, and I am pissed off.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">See, the first rule of feminism is that you uphold equality. This means that you accept every individuals autonomy. They control their choices: their mind, their bodies, their sexual activities. Everyone has the right to be free to make their own decisions, including a physical freedom from assault and abuse.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Now, personally, I could never become a sex worker. My first sexual experience was rape. It left scars. I enjoy sex, a lot, that and reading are my favourite pastimes. I also have a predilection for BDSM, and at one point had a year of celibacy to mediate on these factors of my personhood and decide whether they could be healthily mix (They were, though I do not date, play, and have infrequent lovers.). I also feel that, given the violent, sexist society we live in, it is too dangerous. Both for the person, and also in how it contributes to the prevailing objectification of women. We are literally comodfied as sex, and sex sells. Who cares if a tool is blunted or broken. Right?</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">However, other people feel differently to me and have become sex workers, or their circumstances have presented sex work as a means to finance a better life. (And then there are those who do not make the decision but are coerced or forced into it, but for the purposes of this discussion, in light of autonomy, I feel the need to distinguish from those who have chosen.) Their decisions are different to mine, and whilst I cannot really support those decisions I will always support the right of a woman to conduct her life as she pleases. And I don't really expect sex workers to care about my views, or decisions, although I am always up for a discussion. Despite the events in my life, fueled by the uncertainty of identification, I can fully understand why sex workers sometimes remain anonymous. It is simply life threatening to do otherwise.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><b>Every woman, every person, has the right to be safe.</b></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">So think about this, the next time you share that video, or make assumptions, or listen to rumours. Think about this and remember that gossip is but the indulgence of a fearful, bored mind and often has little to do with the truth. Remember my wounds, my hardships, under merely a rumour when you see someone who is actually a sex worker. Treat her as a person, not a thing to be used, to exorcise your fraught sexual desires or anger, not an object that presents an easy outlet. And question, don't just lap it up and spew it back up, unheeding of the damage it causes.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Men: a woman's expressed sexuality is not your justification for hate, for use. Nor is her body yours.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">Women: Be safe. Remember how easily this could be turned against you, with a nasty word or two, a passing resemblance. Be kind to each other.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">People: We can do better than this. Stop getting freaked out by differing levels of melatonin. Stop viewing sex as a sin. Stop making yourself feel bigger by lessening others.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;arial&quot; , &quot;helvetica&quot; , sans-serif;">It's time for change.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />*I will not name and shame the venue, as I had a chat with the manager/staff a few weeks later and there were promises to do the right thing and be more vigilant in ensuring that women are not drugged, or assaulted on their premises. I did not have high hopes but the police did say that the venue is a lot more stringent now. If you already know the venue, and think this assessment is incorrect please do comment.<br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-91113436673892915902015-01-20T00:14:00.001+00:002015-02-03T01:36:00.483+00:00New Type<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CTakLMyhh8M/VL42ssRYHcI/AAAAAAAAASA/2XemHRLNRAw/s1600/beach%2B11%2B017x2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CTakLMyhh8M/VL42ssRYHcI/AAAAAAAAASA/2XemHRLNRAw/s1600/beach%2B11%2B017x2.jpg" height="320" width="165" /></a></div><br /><br />(In submission)the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-6119664459810747042015-01-01T17:13:00.001+00:002015-01-01T20:23:54.443+00:00TW: Everything can change, on a New Years day.<br />So 2014 was a mixed bag, eh?<br /><br />Started off rather well, in that glorious spring all hopeful and marked by sunshine. There was a writers con and London book fair, much poetry, a brief if pleasant love affair, time well spent with friends, the book faced hard truths and was seriously cut and expanded, the whole narrative arc being reformed into a duology.<br /><br />Then I got sexually assualted, nose broken, menstrual cycle askew from where I was thrown into a wall, furious at the police officer that told me to 'Fuck off' rather than help, and cracks began to show. The old night terrors sarted in again, with a vengeance, and all my years spent mediatating through my depression and triggers were tested.<br /><br />Although much shaken, the gleam of spring lost, I continued. A bit quieter, a bit more focused on myself and my health, but carried on writing.<br /><br />Then, in the first week of the summer holidays, someone I care about screamed 'I want to destroy you!' and slammed a car door into my head, the locking mechanism striking just above my temple. There was blood and brain fluid gushing out of my ear. It was pretty grim. The Dr diagnosed a concussion the next day and sent me home with no help or pain meds. I simply didn't realise how badly I was hurt.<br /><br />I have little recollection of the week that followed: passing out in bed with lucid dreams, and tremours, hair perpetually wet and nose running, and a lot of pain. Only getting out to make meals for my son following routine, saying little but 'yes' 'no' 'I love you', then going back to bed.<br /><br />I got relatively better, persevered. Though really I was overcompensating/ applying false logic to make sense of the changes in my behaviour. It was also cyclic: I'd rest and feel better, then push myslef to far, too fast and have a flare up. Toward the end of summer, and again in the autumn, I had a scab of blood and brain fluid come out of my ear and then the pressure in my head would rise and all my symptoms became worse: memory, balance, motor functions, vertigo, stutter, the inability to access memories/thoughts or deal with the frustration that all of this caused.<br /><br />In septemer I went back to the Dr's. Trigemenial neuroplasia suspected. Eye tests followed, 20:20 vision but partial face paralysis and nerve damage. Further tests were done to check for bone fragments pressing against my optical nerve and thankfully none were found. Before midwinter I had an apt with a neurologist and am on the list for a CT scan, and given naproxin to bring down the brain swelling. Which is actually working and I feel more clear headed than I have for a long time, though it does little to stop the pain at impact site or headaches.<br /><br />I am healing, slowly, and hopefuly no brain lesions or what have you will be found. Hopefuly it will be a matter of controlling swelling, working through symtoms and letting time do its work.<br /><br />Somehow, during this, I finished the book (again) and sent it out to my beta readers. Though the feedback that has started to come back has very much driven home my obvious inability to edit whist all of this was going on! Embarrassing, but now I find it kinda amusing (which is a good sign, my sense of humour returning). I simply cannot work as fast, or process as much, as I used to but am quietly tinkering away, changing the first chapters to better reflect story, to incorporate the feedback.<br /><br />So, yes, in the autumn I went dark. Simply didnt have energy to deal with people in my personal life, or online, except for dealing with the fallout of divorce and deaths in the family. I pulled focus on recovery and looking after my child, trying to minimise the effect on him. I didnt really get much help, and may have lost some friends along the way. I have no tolerance for negativity, or for loud, bright places. It has been overwhelming at times.<br /><br />And now it is 2015. My resolutions?<br /><br />1. To remember how to put the world aside and simply enjoy the love of my family; my clever, capricious, kind Rowan and our canny cat, Sherlock, who so recently choose us.<br /><br />2. To continue to recover, if not to who I was before than to someone better.<br /><br />3. To not get assaulted, sexually or violently.<br /><br />4. To polish this book into something worthy of readers and prepare for publication. To keep writing, keep editing, keep researching. To be who I want to be, and to find my success.<br /><br />5. To raise my voice against the injustice that is abysmally insidious within our cultures. To not accept less than what is right, to fight for it if need be. Though always remembering that violence breeds more violence and if peace and equality are to be pursued with an honest heart than those tenets should be what guides the actions in pursuit of such.<br /><br />6. To remember, when pain is sharp and body grinding with exhaustion, when my mind is hemmed in by inability and frustration, when memories claw with all too real talons that bear the sensation of their origin and the fear and rage within rise...to remember that it gets better. That simple truth that seems so absurdly ephemeral a times. It gets better.<br /><br />7. To try. Always.<br /><br /><br />This is a personal post true, though I'm all too aware that this has been a shit year for a lot of people. But perhaps we can all have hope. I think change is coming. It will be painful, and disappointing, and full of awful times, but if we grit our teeth and refuse to be bought down, to be destroyed or subjugated, than maybe we can ensure that change is a good one.<br /><br />In love and solidarity.<br />Ash<br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-58066266286419271952014-11-09T01:35:00.000+00:002014-12-02T21:03:36.785+00:00Mera<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oicMlKKqfTQ/VF7DVEsSKdI/AAAAAAAAARQ/mNlI9op3SvE/s1600/Scan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oicMlKKqfTQ/VF7DVEsSKdI/AAAAAAAAARQ/mNlI9op3SvE/s1600/Scan.jpg" height="320" width="232" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A pencil (and a little accidental charcoal) sketch of Mera. Very much a work in progress. <br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-4270585944342357112014-10-22T10:33:00.001+01:002014-10-22T10:43:40.690+01:00Kaelistra<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YX-N3mgTfv4/VEd550Sm9FI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/_PZmm-E-GzM/s1600/kaelistra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YX-N3mgTfv4/VEd550Sm9FI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/_PZmm-E-GzM/s1600/kaelistra.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-30013346191520452912014-10-21T11:12:00.000+01:002014-10-21T11:13:57.562+01:00This is the End<br />It is done.<br /><br />Done and gone.<br /><br />Which is rather a relief, since facing my critism and the decision to cut, cut, cut, I feel as if I have been scrambling to catch up with myself. Letting go the hopes of dreams and facng the grinding reality of the hard work it takes to produce something of quality. No indulging in writers block- edit, make notes, reread, research! No clinging on to writing that simply does not work, or is not good enough- cut it or improve it. No complaining that you cannot find the time to write. You want to be a writer, be a published author, then you simply have to make the time. It's your job.<br /><br />This can be difficult, life can be difficult. I'm a single mother, so I know this all to well. There is always housework, shopping in ill weather, a ravenous child needing love and entertainment, homework and all the other myriad demands of parenting. Joyous, hectic, exhausting.<br /><br />And then there are the inevitable dark times. I was sexually assaulted in the spring, my nose broken. A family member passed away. At the beginning of the summer holidays I suffered a nasty concussion, which has left me with neuropathic damage. It was a bit shit for awhile there and lets just say that such injuries, and the emotional fall out, are not very conductive of writing.<br /><br />But you have to persevere. No matter the loss of control that life leads to, you are the only one who can control your actions, your reactions, can work toward your goals. Even if that means pushing self imposed deadlines forward two months and planning for a slower rate of writing. Even if that means struggling with frustration and guilt. You have to keep on keeping on. Don't yearn towards dreams and let others drag you down. Be the dream.*<br /><br />My title has changed. Before I had been working with <i>Song of Sorrow</i> but, well. <i>A Song of Ice and Fire</i> is a rather good series, you may have heard of it, and <i>Song of Stone</i> is also a very good book. There are enough songs out there, I think. Now:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><u><b>The Otherside</b></u></div><div style="text-align: center;">Of Bloody Reflections</div><div style="text-align: center;">Refractions of Fire&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Of Bloody Reflections</i> is complete at 110k, about 60k of which is new material and the rest much revised. Some days, during the revision, I was deleting as much as writing per session. This is good, considering my criticisms, but an odd feeling none the less. The whole has been restructured, during editing I pulled each character into separate files: Mera, Llew, Tomas and alt. The better to edit without getting sucked into the story. Then woven back together always considering pacing: of tension, of action, of suspense and mystery, of character development. The closer to the end the more the earlier scenes were tweaked and expanded. After the restructure came line edits, which were not that bad due to half of it having been previously edited and my habit of reading through and editing when creativity isn't really flowing, or when a subplot arc is complete/reaching height. I don't know that I'll ever be happy with it (no, brain, perfection is not attainable. It is a paradox!) but it is much improved. <i>A good story.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last night I started contacting my beta readers, six of them already have it. I thought I would feel nervous and twitchy (I mean, nobody has read the new material, gasp) but...It's good this feeling, nice, like I'm finally back where I should be. Proactive.</div><br /><br />Next: Working with betas, then tackling the synopsis, covering letter and searching for the right agent. I will do some posts on these. Then NaNoWriMo and using the random scraps of scenes and notes to start <i>Refractions of Fire</i>.<br /><br />But for now I strongly suspect that something is rotting in my kitchen. Adieu!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Yeah, that is down right cheesy I know.</span>the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-52668320313901152802014-09-28T16:02:00.001+01:002015-02-21T21:11:26.172+00:00Hammer & Tongue National Final, Fuck Yeah<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">They day for me was chaotic, between a lack of trains, trouble sorting babysitting, time broken by the demands of food and friends...you know how it goes, sometimes. But for all that, for what I could attend...the gig was good.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">More than good. My fingers itch to take up a pen again and revisit my poetry that has had to be relegated to subconscious soup of late.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">The <a href="http://www.hammerandtongue.com/" target="_blank">final</a> took place in the Royal Albert Hall's underground Loading Bay. High ceilinged, bright lights casting comforting shadows, gratified rock gods circling benevolently around a cross country, cross continental audience that awaited words and rhymes with grins and rapture. And booze, obviously. And nerves for those who watched the stage they would soon ascend.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">And ascend they did, with diverse offerings, and each and every one should rest easy today with a sense of pride. Because you are all awesome.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">There were about 50 poets performing from Bristol, Hackney, Cambridge, Oxford, and Camden chapters as well as Bang Said the Gun, Apples and Snakes, Outspoken and the qualifiers from the Roundhouse, Glastonbury, the Commonwealth Games, Strawberry Fair, Farrago, Word4Word and the BBC and Scotland slams. Too many to detail here.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Some of those I had the pleasure to hear, to see, and stood out in memory were <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/torreythepoet/" target="_blank">Torrey Shineman</a>, whose naked cartwheels called bullshit on supposed beauty ideals. <a href="https://twitter.com/TomGillUK" target="_blank">Tom Gill</a>'s unfortunate serendipity and pop culture references melded with beats and bleak humour. <a href="http://www.davidword.com/" target="_blank">David Lee Morgon</a>'s call that we all become crazy santas and fight for the rights for all children to know love and safety. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ-jJ57rxKB_8ke-0NGw6S8bHQ1Tje_vq" target="_blank">Rik the Most</a>'s critique of an education system in thrall to the meanness of averages, remembering those doomed to drown in mediocrity. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-QDrQ53pDg" target="_blank">Tim Ledwitch</a>'s remembrance of a friend who died of cancer but was not lost to it, a pain that demanded we embrace the thunder, dance in the rain. <a href="http://deathofthewriter.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Justina Kehinde</a> whose brutal words wove elegantly, and without succour, the reality of female genital mutilation.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://katetempest.co.uk/" target="_blank">Kate Tempest</a> enticed and awed with a guest performance. Who is, to put it quite simply, <i>fucking amazing</i>. Given a choice of a couple of pieces of shorter, known material or a longer, new story we called for the latter and were gifted with the a modern retelling of Tiresias. Woven with all the verve and energy and delicacy you would expect, blending the ancient and the contemporary, interspersing stabs to the heart, claws to soul with bright flashes of knowing humour and that smile.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Then, the individual slam winners. There were two this year, both wielders of vaginas...and talent and fury and wisdom.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://vanessakisuule.wix.com/poetry" target="_blank">Vanessa Kissuule</a>, candidly sharing philosophical life hacks and an introspective critique on the infrastructure of the event and judgement.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="https://twitter.com/Leylajosephine1" target="_blank">Leyla Josephine</a>, in conversation with Beyonce, refusing to accept domestic violence with a blase booty wiggle and a memory of her introduction to sex through the gnarly visuals of hardcore porn. </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Congratulations, and thank you to all who performed or worked their asses off to put on this event.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">And you? Want to try your luck, think you may be next years winner? Want to be entertained, inspired or help choose who gets to compete for the title? Then check out whats going on in your local area because the regional slams start this October.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">**Edited for greek idiocies. apologies. This is why editing is a valuable tool.**</span></span>the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-51293184067348131842014-09-17T22:26:00.002+01:002015-02-03T01:38:47.712+00:00A Little Good News<br />I've had my first short story acceptance!<br /><br /><i>Somebody Else </i>will be featuring alongside the tales of other talented writers in the Fox Pocket anthology <i>In an Unknown Country </i>by <a href="http://www.foxspirit.co.uk/books/anthologies/fox-pockets/volumes-6-10/" target="_blank">Fox Spirit</a>.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGVp-IusoJQ/VBn7HGspdlI/AAAAAAAAAQE/B2GfG1WsBKs/s1600/FS7-In-An-Unknown-Country-ebook-72ppi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGVp-IusoJQ/VBn7HGspdlI/AAAAAAAAAQE/B2GfG1WsBKs/s1600/FS7-In-An-Unknown-Country-ebook-72ppi.jpg" height="320" width="187" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The release date is yet to be confirmed but likely to be in S/S 2015.<br /><br />I'll post more details when I know them. In the meantime you could always have a read of their other publications and blog posts. :)<br /><br /><br />P.S. I'm still editing a <i>Song of Sorrow.</i><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415015401405809740.post-10466110459203493532014-08-31T17:02:00.000+01:002015-03-11T23:55:40.307+00:00Rejection Blues and Burning<br />I'm editing again. I cannot honestly say that the first draft is done, as I'm never quite comfortable saying that until it is ready to be read by another. And it would be more accurate to say this is, at least, the second incarnation.<br /><br />This time last year I had just started my collection of rejections. I did my research, soon encountering the vast sea of my ignorance and dived in regardless. I've always found learning by fire a good way to temper knowledge/action, and yes I blundered, a bit, occasionally. Ahem. Instead of the coldly calculating wisps who slid easily into snide that I had been fearing, and seen much moaned about online, I found my correspondence with agents, and their assistants, to be rather friendly. Even the form rejections are written with a hand that holds yours comfortingly, perhaps offers advice from an experienced perspective. It is important to remember that agents are people and, not only that, but people who read. We all want good books.<br /><br />Over the autumn I carried on writing the next part of the story, carried on submitting, researching, learning. There are some sites that advise that writers can collect a 100+ rejections before getting that longed for acceptance. I've always thought you would do better to try and identify <i>why</i> it elicits such a negative response. A few may just be down to luck or a matter of taste. If it is just based on your covering letter then perhaps that needs to be improved, but if its on a call for your first chapters? That strongly suggests it's your writing, story, or characters (or worse, dread of dread, the whole lot).<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"trap of over writing"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"far too overly florid"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"it just didn't grab me enough"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"need to have a better idea of what the main drama and thrust of the plot is"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"the writing can be tightened up and simplified"</span></div><br />Some of the constructively critical barbs that struck. It took a few months for objective scar tissue to form, for me to figure out whether it was just the first three chapters that were a shambles or if the problem went deeper. To figure out how restrictions cause friction, how to utilise that and when to let go and recognise that structure is not rigid, but more a glue, an anchor, a backbone. Your writing does not hang from, nor frame, your plot but flows from it. There is a part of me amused that one of the themes explored is that journey, those concepts of innocence and experience.<br /><br />In the spring I burned around 51k of prose, plus an unknown amount of sentences, paragraphs, phrases, a few characters; sub plots died or evolved. The 30kish that had been the beginning of book two merged with the old, contracted, expanded. The chronology fell to chaos. The arc in <i>Of Bloody Reflections</i> was shaken down and combed over, redistributed and refined into a duology. I certainly understand the value of a working synopsis (not notes or plans) better now. Like an ultimate spoiler guide/battle plan/literary analysis.<br /><br />The discordant mess of&nbsp; <i>Song of Sorrow</i> settled, slowly, into something approaching a story once more.<br /><br /><br />I've missed my self imposed deadlines, but am not too fraught over it. With every cliff I jump off it gets a bit better. I think. I mean...not just florid, not just far too florid, but overly far too florid! Florid to the third degree. FFS. That haunts me.<br /><br />But summer is maturing into autumn once more, and the writing has ripened.<br /><br />Soon it will be ready to be read, again, for the first time.<br /><br />the OTHERSIDEhttps://plus.google.com/101880641146779209437noreply@blogger.com2